


Dominance

by magichamster



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: M/M, hints of D/s, shameless porn, spanking for the sake of spanking, this is kind of kinky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 22:01:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/854480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magichamster/pseuds/magichamster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shameless Rick/Daryl spanking porn. Set around the time Merle's living at the prison.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dominance

**Author's Note:**

> For the sake of this fic, the laundry room has waist-height dryers.

The voices wake the baby - his daughter, Rick reminds himself- Judith screaming as if joining in with the argument. When he makes it there, Judith in the safe gentle care of Beth, Merle and Daryl are seconds away from a fist fight, up in each other's faces, each a mirror image of the other.

They're in the laundry room, the one where Oscar proved his loyalty, the one where Merle comes to get high while everyone else holds their tongues for Daryl's sake. And there's a reason that only Rick's come to break them up - the rest of the group are no doubt hoping this will be the last straw, Daryl throwing his brother out of the prison, rid them of the burden once and for all. Rick can hardly blame them - he's seen the bruises on Glenn's face, the quiet dead look on Maggie's face. Hell, if he was Glenn, Rick doubts he'd show as much self-restraint.

"Nothing to see here, Officer Friendly," Merle drawls, barely bothering to look at him.

"How about you take a step back?" Rick's falling back on his police training, though there's a surge of protectiveness racing through him - if Merle makes a move, he won't hesitate to take him down.

Merle must know this somehow, perhaps understands that Rick will protect Daryl no matter what, that Daryl is family to Rick in a way that runs deeper than blood. He steps away, laughing to himself, that usual manic look in his cold eyes, and leaves the room without another word.

Thing is, Daryl's not too good at controlling his anger around Merle, tends to act up like Merle brings out the hurt little boy inside, and sometimes Rick wishes he could take Merle on a drive somewhere far away and bury his body in the dirt.

He's fine to leave it when Daryl's pacing, even when he starts throwing anything he can get his hands on. It's when he starts punching the wall, apparently determined to break every bone in his hand, that Rick steps in.

It's a practised move, honed on the job, and it's not until he's got Daryl bent over a dryer - hands pinned behind his back, Rick reaching for handcuffs he no longer has - that Rick remembers he's not a perp. And Daryl's thrashing against him, desperate to get away and find something else he can punch, so Rick ends up leaning against him, holding him down with his weight, wrists held firmly with one hand, the other instinctively checking for weapons.

It catches him off guard, the softness of the skin by Daryl's waistband. his pants have ridden down during the struggle, revealing a patch of unblemished white, and the flower-petal smoothness makes Rick stop in his tracks. He traces the skin with a finger, absent-minded, forgetting himself for a while. It's not until Daryl shifts again that he remembers where he is.

Rick's not one for apologies, and Daryl's not one for hearing them; all their meaningful conversations exist through looks and subtext. Still, he fully intends to pull away, realises he may have overstepped a line, until he realises that Daryl is lowering his pants, sliding them down his hips to reveal more perfect white skin. And Rick must've let go of his wrists at some point, is barely holding Daryl down. Somehow he knows with absolute certainty that if he took a step back, Daryl would stay where he is, bent over the dryer with his ass in the air. It's as near as he's going to get to permission.

Rick slides a hand over the skin, that cool creamy softness, listening to Daryl's breath hitch. He repeats the motion, watching goose bumps appear over the skin, the exposed flesh clearly not used to such treatment. It's when he runs a finger down Daryl's lower back to the crack of his ass that Daryl moves again, his hips jerking back towards Rick as if on their own accord. It's almost like he's saying please.

Rick's not sure what possesses him to do it, whether it's to stop Daryl moving, or to give that pale flesh a pink glow, or if he was some undiscovered fetish rearing its head. But as Daryl shifts again, yet more skin being revealed, Rick finds himself swinging a hand back and striking.

He's never really understood the appeal of spanking. He'd tried it with Lori once, in the early days of their marriage, and she'd just giggled as he lightly smacked her ass until they'd decided sex the normal way was much more fun. Daryl is different. For one, Rick's pretty sure the man's never giggled in his life. And as Rick aims another hit to his ass, watching the skin flush pink, Daryl pretty much whimpers.

His pants are still in the way, though, stuck halfway round his ass. It's only when he reaches round to undo them that Rick realises why Daryl hasn't told him to stop: Daryl is rock hard. Rick's never touched another man, never even thought about it, but as he undoes Daryl's pants and feels the damp head of his dick, Rick drops his head and lets out a low groan. He indulges his curiosity, palms Daryl's dick for a moment, feeling the warm weight in his hand. It's not too different to touching his own, with the added benefit of having a warm twitching body beneath him. Daryl's hips are moving again, short staccato thrusts that cause Rick's own cock to twitch, and Rick steps away while he still can. Then he aims another blow at Daryl's ass.

He spanks Daryl for some time, watching the cheeks turn from white to pink to red, listening to the little whimpers Daryl makes with each blow. and deep down Rick knows it's not just the sight that's turning him on, it's not just Daryl exposed and writhing in front of him. Truth is, this has been a long time coming. Rick had ignored it out of wilful determination, those little jolts of pleasure every time Daryl followed his orders, let him take the lead. He'd told himself he just respected Daryl's loyalty, had tried desperately to ignore the reality: he liked the power, loved how easily Daryl submitted to him. For months he'd been unwilling to accept that Daryl was his, _is_ his. And it's about time he makes it clear to Daryl just who he belongs to.

He runs his hands over Daryl's ass one more time, soothing the reddened skin. Rick doesn't know much about anal sex, but Shane had always been pretty open about his sex life, so he knows enough to start with a spit-slick finger, gently easing it into Daryl's asshole without asking for permission.

He hears Daryl curse at the intrusion and pauses, part of him listening for a protest, for confirmation he's gone too far. But Daryl just wriggles against the finger, and Rick thrusts a few more times before adding another.

It ends up with Daryl's whimpers turning into full-on moans, bent over the dryer with his hands holding him up, Rick lining up his barely slick cock and thrusting in. Daryl's tight and hot around his dick, his muscles clenching and stretching, and Rick shudders as his balls hit the back of Daryl's legs. The feeling is so intense it's almost too much, after so long of just being with his hand. Rick pauses, tries to adjust, to calm himself, make this last. And then Daryl mutters, "Come on then," impatient as always, and Rick begins to thrust.

He grabs Daryl's hips for leverage, thumbs digging into the still flushed cheeks of his ass. Rick fucks Daryl roughly, all of the anger and frustration of the last few weeks fuelling every movement. Rick grunts softly with each thrust, wondering why the hell he's trying to keep quiet when Daryl's moaning loud enough for the rest of the prison to hear. The jolt of arousal at the thought stuns him, the idea that the rest of their group, that _Merle_ can hear exactly what they're doing, the confirmation that Daryl belongs to Rick. And he should have done this earlier, bent Daryl over the car the minute he suggested leaving with Merle.

The thought's enough to dissolve the rest of Rick's self-restraint, and with a few more rough thrusts, he's coming in Daryl's ass, pleasure and relief coursing through him. Rick pulls out, panting, suddenly aware that his shirt's soaked with sweat. Daryl stays where he is, bent over the dryer with come leaking out his ass, still hard cock standing to attention between his legs.

"Turn around," Rick orders, voice strangely hoarse.

Daryl complies, facing Rick and leaning against the dryer. His pupils are wide, face flushed, pants round his ankles, cock bobbing against the hem of his shirt. Rick closes his eyes for a second, as if trying to imprint the sight on his eyelids, wishing he was young enough to go again.

"Touch yourself," he says, watching again, pleased by how quickly Daryl complies.

Daryl's like something out of a porno, fucking his own hand, spreading pre-come over the head of his dick, moaning with his head thrown back. And Rick has to step closer, using one hand to pull on Daryl's hair, force him to make eye contact, to see just what he's done to Rick. It doesn't take long for Daryl to come, covering his own hand and shirt. Rick presses his forehead to Daryl's, sharing air. They stay like that for a few minutes, panting, a quiet moment of peace.

The kiss is more a thank you than anything else, a chaste brush of lips, punctuation to whatever's going on between them, more of a comma than a full stop.

As Rick goes to leave the room, he turns back, wondering if he should say something. Daryl just nods at him, confirmation that everything's okay. Rick nods back.


End file.
